


Guess what? He's dead too

by spnsmile



Series: Prompt: Coda Pieces [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: All Pain, Castiel Takes Care of Dean, Castiel helps Sam, Castiel in the Bunker, Dean Winchester Dies, Demon! Dean the coda, Gen, Hurt, Pain, Prompt Fic, just hurt, no comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 08:20:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22847047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spnsmile/pseuds/spnsmile
Summary: Castiel contemplates the moment he found Sam dragging Dean's dead body to his older brother's room. The man Metatron killed. Castiel has a moment to be strong, only to crumble upon Dean's memory
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: Prompt: Coda Pieces [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1627993
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	Guess what? He's dead too

**Author's Note:**

> Anon prompt: of Castiel the one cleaning Dean's face after his untimely death on Metatron's hands :(
> 
> I believe it’s gonna be something heavy if it happened that way…and I reckon it also needed both more words and no words at the same time… dang it…the words I used don’t mince… why anonnn!?

_Guess what? He’s dead too._

_How wicked a voice of an angel could turn to be, Castiel will never understand. His Father must've felt the same when Lucifer slandered epitaphs to God's beloved creations._

An hour passed, or two. 

All was still and silent outside the hidden shelter when Castiel arrived at the Bunker in the dead of the night. It was not the same within its walls however, for the moment the angel opens the familiar heavy door, his sensitive ears catch the tiniest sound of someone crying. A desolate sound coming from someone so dear and close.

He found them in the middle of the corridor lit with the turn up lamps. 

Sam kneeling on the floor with legs crushed beneath him, his broad shoulder shaking as he struggles to breathe. On his arm clings an unmoving figure. The angel holds himself fast. No time for yourself, he says.

He walks to Sam whose sobbing will be in the angel’s nightmare as he draws closer. Sam is crying, his frame hunching over the body lying on the floor, _dead._

_He’s dead too._

_The Righteous man._

The name registers in his head, but he did not say it. 

Sam is not just crying, it’s a plea of a man drained of all hope. The angel grasps his shoulders for support, murmurs something soothing and gentle. It takes a while. Sam says he wants to do it, but his body won’t let him when the angel stood back to watch. Sam didn’t move. How could he?

“Come on, Sam. I will do it.”

Breathing hitching, Sam staggers to stand up. He didn’t make it far. A few steps to the nearest wall and he is sliding down the cold tiles of the floor, drowning himself in misery, clamping his hands over his mouth to stop whatever dreadful sound wants to slip out. Castiel takes the hands away, shaking his head once reproachfully when he meets the wet eyes, the angel’s heart sinking at the streak of tears on the kind face.

Sam didn’t deserve this.

“D-Dean—he’s…!” he could barely swallow.

Castiel slightly cringes at the name before he places a hand on the trembling shoulder and squeezes it tight. He’s never wanted to see Sam Winchester broken again as a result of a test of time.

“It’s okay.” He assures the air, unable to reach either hearts.

Sam buries his face on his knees, his long fingers running on the scalps of his hair. 

The angel watches him for some time. Stayed beside him till he can make sure Sam knows he’s here. That he didn’t have to be alone. That someone’s beside him in this time of grieving. He won’t be alone.

When at last, Sam’ sobs stifled a little after an hour, the angel knows it’s time for him to do his take. 

He attempts to straighten his expression, attempts to hide his grief because if he let the crushing defeat to drown him too, he would be no use to Sam. No use here at all… so he turns.

He knows the _man_ is not there, his essence is certain. He could not feel _him_ like he used to with their bond so unbreakable. And yet the physical body is there as a proof of his ceasing existence.

Castiel can only stand rigidly on the side, staring at the plain body feeling… _nothing._

He lays his eyes on the dead hunter where all he sees is an empty shell. 

It is incomprehensible how even when he’s known real grief and suffering, even torturous agony, how the sight breaks down all the wall of his strength, and yet avoid any sentiments. He knows that feeling. He knows it because he’d seen in on the same man pretending, he’s okay when he wasn’t.

_Numb. Absolute numbness._

It doesn’t do justice… the thought of Metatron now in a cage, sealed and heavily guarded, to the lost life now before Castiel, the life of a man he so cherished and protected…the life saved by an angel… _ruthlessly ended by an angel._

He wants to call him but doing so would prove what Castiel fears.

He mechanically steps towards the body. A routine he’s so used to around the man who he would catch in his daily routine like sleeping, napping, inside the toilet, preparing to sleep— a hobby the angel quite enjoyed despite the warning for space.

Castiel’s mind cleared as to what needs to be done. Like the many times he let his sharp mind do its job in the middle of a battle, this too is the aftermath. He can do this… He walks to the body and kneels down.

But emotions swirl the moment of their first contact. 

With a hiss, he finds the body is already stone-cold— so unlike the warm body he protected even from the cold of the night when on duty of watching him at night. _Just freezing cold._

The angel snaps his hand back like he’s burnt, eyes widening. 

_No… Sam won’t make it._

Castiel inwardly keeps the strain. He carefully set his hand aside, trying to emphasize that another soldier has fallen. He has to pull himself together for the garrison.

But he isn’t in the garrison.

These aren’t soldiers.

These are his friends.

Castiel frowns heavily to muster the emotions distracting his concentration and looks at the body.

For the first time, his eyes get a closer look of the man dead on the floor. His face is a mask of peace, cuts and gashes with blood everywhere on his handsome features. His eyelids are shut tight, no muscle twitching like it means to irate the angel. 

Castiel winces at the memory of this man’s soul once so bright now gone and trapped somewhere dark. 

He remembers the first time he laid eyes on his best friend. How his soul had been so broken and tortured, yet together it was so bright… How his remaining life only spoke to Castiel of great sense of sorrow. 

This time the shell reached out no more. 

The angel braces himself as he clamps both hands on the dead man’s wrists and heaved it from the floor. He can still hear Sam’s audible sobs even when he reaches the hunter’s room. The angel grunts when he has to lean on the hunter to get the door open. He kicks it right after and carry him inside.

He gently drops the man on the bed, makes sure the legs and arms are carefully placed on his side like he expects the man to complain in the morning for all the sore of his body. Castiel knew no response would come and it makes him grit his teeth. This would not have happened if he only followed after the Winchesters and not get stuck with the bigger plan of his heavenly beings.

_No._

It doesn’t matter now what he could have done and undone. The hunter is still dead.

He gingerly stands and watches the figure for some time. The sight of blood all over the body from the head, to his chest, his middle, his legs, all the pain gets an angry hiss escaping the angel’s lips. He flickers his eyes to the man’s face with a heavy heart. Just to be sure he saw it right… maybe… just maybe… a miracle… 

Blank. Empty. The pale void only disappoints him further. Swallowing hard, he reaches down his pocket and takes out his handkerchief.

Bending a little to the pillow, the angel swipes at the familiar face lined with exhaustion even in his last breath. He tries to maintain his ordinate movements as he rubs the man’s brows and clears it off the drying blood. His hardened heart softens. Staring at the prone figure of someone he adored has its impact. Sadness engulfs him as he studies the bruises and abrasions his friend had to suffer. He runs the piece of cloth as gently as he could, like the older Winchester can still feel, can still move. Be taken care of which Castiel is willing to do even now.

He wipes the cloth on the bridge of the man’s nose. He ignores the trembling of his fingers as he cleans the lines at the corner of his eyes. The easy crinkle it folds to when the man smiles. 

He presses softly on man’s cheeks that bulge every time the hunter eats a chunk of pie more than he could chew. He sighs at the firmness of the hunter’s jaw when under threat and the smile that graces his lips when overcome with joy. Lips that could smile sardonically, then straight to a flashing playful grin, now gone forever.

Out of reach. The smile of a friend he loved. Gone… _gone…_

All the physical and emotional turmoil his best friend had been through…

This man deserved better.

_But he’s gone too…_

Hearts can’t break easily when it’s guarded, but it did even as a stronghold as his. The searing pain erupts from his chest, though, Castiel soldiers through it, he demands to, for Sam. He held his breath, faithful on his ministrations as he cleans the cuts on the lips, gently brushing on his bottom one and refrained from thinking further

_He’s gone too._

Castiel pulls his hand away down to the bed, clutching the bloodstained handkerchief tight, chest heavy with emotion. He couldn’t keep it in. He shuts his eyes and prays to his father, then without much thought, leans down and kisses the hunter's temple, pressing hard that would surely bruise his own lips. 

He still has to go to Sam and comfort him.

He gets up rigidly, lips twisting painfully as he kept it all in. It was foolish, but the moment his eyes flickers up, straight to the hunter’s open drawer, he sees it, and the welling emotion just rushes out like a dam breaking down to free the wallowing emotion of regret, anger, grief and just about anything even an angel can die for. He sees it. The hunter’s flannel he was wearing the last time they had a little moment by themselves, just catching up while the man wolfed down their ordered burgers.

Where he smiles despite his pain. Where he told the angel he’s fine. 

Where he told him he’s ready to die if needed… and how he trusts Castiel to do it.

_Dean._

It was a hard task. To not crumble when he stares deeply on the prone figure. This man had always been special to him. Someone he considers essential in this life. It’s not him being a hero per se. Not the man being the hunter or a vessel to his brother… but just being… 

_Dean._

Castiel swallows the lump stuck in his throat, the back of his eyes burning. He stares at the man who didn’t have to care, but grew up to learn everything to protect innocent people, heedless of his own well-being—

_Dean._

A man who’s given up his heart for his family, leaving nothing for himself.

_Dean._

A man hell-bent on giving up his life just so the people he loves live—

_Dean._

The playful human whose pain he turns to his strength daily despite the ups and downs. 

_“Dean…”_

Castiel’s Dean. The man whom the universes had turned against, but still continue to break through all bounds of faith. All that spells one man for Castiel. The man whose bright green eyes he would never see again. Would never hear the sound of laughter again. Would never see smiling again.

Loss. His loss…

Raw pain breaks the mask of emptiness, replacing a crumbling figure who falls on his knees, grasping the floor, trying to clasp on anything for support. He turns to the bed, sees his best friend and shuts his eyes, tears running freely down his strained face. 

There was no stopping it this time, not the soldier, not the angel. Just as raw as any humans would feel, worse than one because of the singular truth of the cold body he touched. Castiel’s frame shakes and the terrible sounds he makes is full of torment and sorrow. And for the first time in his long life, he feels no hope.

_Lost his hope._

It’s when Castiel hears Metatron’s voice in his head again… that _he’s gone too_ … it’s true. 

For Castiel thinks he’s gone too. 

“Dean…” he sobs in the darkness of the night as darkness begins to creep on the corners of his eyes, draining him of energy and before he knows it, he’s also sinking down to the pit. His instincts told him not to fall, to fight and hold on.

 _But why?_ A voice loud in his head raises. _He’s gone._

_Why?_

_He’s gone._

Castiel falls on the depth of unconsciousness, miserable and afraid. He would have fought more if there was more reason. He would have done more if he wasn’t so weak… but the fact is… he’s gone.

And when he wakes up on the cold floor with Sam hovering above him, alarmed and panicking, Castiel only remembers the same name upon sitting up. He can’t focus on what Sam is saying, but when the younger Winchester points on the bed, the angel’s senses kick back in.

The bed is empty. The angel weakly tries to get up, blue eyes on the bed. In the long run, his senses, defected by his dwindling grace, returns and he finally catches what Sam is saying.

“Dean! _He’s gone!”_

The angel wished…. Castiel wished… but only one name springs up and it brought tears to his eyes.

_“Dean!”_


End file.
